36. The Lesson
On the second day of term after winter break, Callie was making her way to the Great Hall for breakfast when Neville came storming up to her. He looked completely out of sorts, and she asked, "What's wrong?"
Silently, he handed her a Daily Prophet and her eyes grew wider and wider as she read to herself. Mass Breakout from Azkaban, Ministry Fears Black is "Rallying Point" for Old Death Eaters, it said. But that wasn't the worst of it. Below the headline were photos of the ten escapees, as well as a brief description of each of their crimes. Callie's heart dropped as she read off three of their names: Rodolphus, Rabastan, and Bellatrix Lestrange.
Convicted of the torture and permanent incapacitation of Frank and Alice Longbottom.
Wide-eyed and mouth hanging open, Callie slowly looked up at Neville. She didn't know whether he was ready to cry or scream or hit something, but he was far closer to losing it than she had ever seen him before.
"I-" he stammered. "They- My- Out-"
The corridor was relatively crowded, and a few people were looking at him. Whether it was because he looked so close to exploding, or because they'd seen the paper, she didn't know. But seeing him shaking and balling his fists made her grab him by the arm and say, "Come on," practically dragging him through the entrance hall and out the front door into the grounds.
They came to the edge of the forest, and Callie whipped around to face him. "They're not gonna-" she said. "They wouldn't-" Come after you?
"They're out, Callie," he said, still shaking. Raising his fists to his head he repeated, "God damn it, they're out!"
"They're not gonna come here," she cut in. But apparently that wasn't his primary concern.
"Gran," he said. "Mum, dad... 'torture and permanent incapacitation.'"
He was pacing around like a madman, and Callie was actually frightened about what was coming. Not that he'd ever hurt her, but he definitely looked like he wanted to punch something.
Suddenly an idea came to her, and she raised her wand, pointing in the direction of her common room, and said, "Accio!"
The redwood beater's bat he'd gotten her two years ago appeared out of nowhere and she handed it to him. "For getting the aggression out," she said, nodding towards a tree.
Neville hesitated. Violence and aggression just weren't in his nature, but if he didn't do something to get it all out, he was going to explode. Stepping closer to the tree, he slammed the bat into it over and over again as hard as he could. Callie stood back and stayed silent, checking to make sure no one was watching, and ready to tell them to shove off if anyone appeared.
Wonder if he's picturing them, she thought, as he went on for over a minute beating the hell out of that tree. Shards of bark were actually coming off of it, and a lighter inside layer was starting to show.
"UGH!" Neville groaned, taking one last all-his-might shot before whipping the bat across the grounds and dropping down to the snow with his head in his hands. He was still trembling, and Callie wondered if he might've been crying.
Cautiously approaching him, she wrapped her arms around him from behind and rested her chin on his shoulder. After a moment, she said, "Thing's indestructible. I really thought it would break."
He reached down to take her arm in his hand, as if for security. Sighing, he said, "What the hell am I going to do?" And she didn't know whether he was asking her or himself.
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What he could do was learn every bit of defense magic that Harry had to teach, and boy did he give it his all as they continued their D.A. meetings. Over the weeks, he'd become as proficient as Callie, and the both of them were outshined only by Harry and Hermione. Callie didn't have to hold his hand anymore when they learned a new spell. In fact, he was giving her more encouragement these days.
Of course, everybody knew the reason why he was so determined and focused, and why he had that rather murderous look in his eye whenever he aimed his wand on a statue of a knight that was used to represent an opponent. Apparently though, Harry had known all along, or at least as long as Callie had.
"He told you?" she asked during one of their meetings. She had been taken aback, and a little disheartened to think that she wasn't the only one Neville had shared his secret with.
But Harry replied, "No. No, I found out... another way."
She didn't ask questions; she was simply happy to still be the only person Neville had trusted enough to tell. But glancing over to the boy, she remarked, "I'm worried about him. He's... not himself lately."
Harry shot their comrade a glance, and said, "Can you blame him? Now that the Lestranges are out..."
Callie pondered the family's escape, shaking her head in anger. "I swear, if I ever see Sirius Black-"
But Harry quickly cut her off. "What's Black got to do with it?" he asked, looking almost... offended.
Callie explained, "He was the first person to ever break out of Azkaban. He knows how to do it, he must've shown them."
"He didn't," Harry snapped, and Callie gaped at him.
"You know something I don't?" she asked.
He was hesitant, but he said, "Just trust me. Black didn't have a hand in this. I know."
The two stared at each other, and Callie asked, "Do you trust me?"
He studied her, only for a couple of seconds, and said, "Yes. I do." Then, leaning in to whisper in her ear, he said, "Black was framed. He's innocent."
Callie noticed Neville looking over at them with a strange expression on his face. The idea that he was bothered seeing Harry so close to her crossed her mind, but she was too stunned by what the boy had just said to pay the matter much attention.
As Harry pulled back, she gaped at him again. "You didn't just hear that," he warned.
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Callie knocked on Snape's office door one night, long after her housemates had gone to bed. When he didn't answer, she tried his living quarters. "What are you doing out of bed at this hour?" he asked.
She checked the corridor both ways, before stepping into the room, not taking her eyes off his.
"What are you-?" he began, but surprisingly, he didn't protest.
Shutting the door and leaning against it, she explained, "I want you to teach me defense."
Whether it was her request or the audacity she'd had to force herself into his private quarters, she didn't know, but clearly he was caught off guard. "Potter not living up to your expectations?" he said sardonically.
"Potter's fifteen," she replied. "And he's not..." She paused. "Well... he hasn't got the same experience you have." Snape scoffed, and Callie went on, "Not just defense. Insider secrets, perhaps? Who better to learn from regarding Dark Magic, than a man who used to practice it?"
He studied her a moment, then took a few steps closer, a very subtle smirk on his face that he might not have even been conscious of. "You want me to teach you offensive magic," he said.
"No," she replied. "I just want to learn how to fight it." She kept her eyes on his, showing - if he cared to see - that she was sincere in what she'd said, but also thinking back to the "reward" he'd given her. She'd managed to translate a few of its descriptions of some of the most gruesome acts of Dark Magic she'd ever heard. Ingesting human flesh to hide a piece of one's soul in something called a Horcrux. Unfathomable methods of torture made to test the human capacity for both pain and survival. Necromancy. Horrific charms and curses, some of them sexual in nature.
He must have been reading her, because he asked, "How was the book?"
"Illuminating, sir," she replied matter-of-factly.
"Bit of a page-turner?" he said with a hint of sarcasm. "Couldn't put it down?"
"I did take a break and sit down with The Nutcracker and Gift of the Magi, sir. Just to get the taste out of my mouth."
"Hmph." He paused, before he said, "Muggle Christmas stories your mother used to read?"
"I can loan you one," Callie offered. "They're quite charming."
He stared down at her for a long while, and oh how she wished she could read his mind too. What's going on in that fucked up head of yours? she thought. And then she remembered his words from a year ago - Wouldn't you like to know the whole sordid tale.
Finally he turned away from her, and said, "I can't teach you."
God damn it. "Why not?"
"Educational Decree Number Twenty-Six," he reminded.
Callie scoffed and said, "Like you really care about that."
He tried a different tactic. "I've got more important matters to attend to. My plate is full."
Callie sighed, her shoulders sinking. "All right, sir," she said. "I suppose it was a long shot."
He raised a brow at her as she turned to leave. "You're not going to fight me on this?" he asked.
Pulling open the door, she paused and said, "Who ever won a fight with you, sir?" before leaving him to himself.
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At the start of the next Potions class, Snape handed out graded essays on Strengthening Solutions, and Callie furrowed her brow as she noted the D (dreadful) marked in red at the top. Outrage shot up in her within seconds - until she saw the note written next to the grade.
See me. You know where.
He made his way back to the front of the room and she eyed him, but he paid her no attention as he started with the day's lecture.
She didn't return to his living quarters until about one in the morning, again deciding it best to wait until her housemates were asleep. "Figured same place, same time?" she said when he let her in.
"I was beginning to believe you wouldn't come," he remarked. He had his own desk in the sitting room, and two chairs were set up before it. He took one and gestured for her to join him in the other. As she did so, he poured a glass of dark liquid and slid it over to her.
"What is this?" she asked, sniffing the contents of the glass.
"Red currant wine," he replied. "Little more... subtle than Firewhisky."
She raised the glass and took a sip. When she was done, she looked over at him expectantly.
"It's poisoned," he said.
Callie froze, her heart skipping a beat as she stared at him. Then her expression relaxed as she picked up the glass and brought it to her lips again, saying, "No, it's not," and taking a sip.
"What if it had been?" he asked. "What would you do?"
Setting the glass down once more, she replied, "Well, first I'd curse you. Then I go find a bezoar."
"Good girl."
"Bezoars are an antidote to most poisons," she said. "You told us that in first year."
Furrowing his brow slightly, he asked, "You remembered that?"
"I remember everything you say," she said, taking another sip. "You've got a commanding voice, it's hard not to pay attention." She finished her wine and slid the glass back to him.
He went on, "But do you expect to be able to find a bezoar lying around if you ever find yourself choking on your own blood after a drink? What do you carry around in your purse, Warbeck? A couple of galleons, your wand... obviously not a make up bag."
Oh, for Christ's sake. Any opportunity to get a dig in. Smirking, she replied, "I don't need make up, sir. I'm beautiful already."
"Suppose you're in the Three Broomsticks and a gentleman wants to buy you a drink. Could you trust them?"
She gaped at him, her brows raised. "Are you talking to me about date-rape, sir?"
Unembarrassed by the question, he said, "They might try that, before the effects of the poison took over." Then he shot her a look. "Or after."
Her mind flashed back to the dark arts book - one particular description that she never wanted to see again. "Point taken," she replied. "No, I wouldn't trust them."
"Vigilance," he said. "Caution. Attention to detail. These are defensive skills that could save your life just as well as any spell or counter-curse. Don't over-rely on magic. Expand on your methods of self-protection."
Callie pondered that, then reached over for the bottle of wine. "Aye," she said, "you're good," before taking a swig.
"On the subject of spells, however," he went on, "learn how to do them in silence. Then your opponent won't know what's coming."
"Right," she agreed.
"Shield charms don't work against the Killing Curse. You have to physically dodge it."
"Okay."
"And make use of your surroundings. You can aim a spell to deflect off a wall or an object and strike your opponent in the back. They won't be able to deflect it from behind."
"Christ," she exclaimed. "You really do know all the tricks. No wonder Dumbledore asked you to lead that Dueling Club in second year."
"Disarm your opponent as soon as you can," he reminded.
"Obviously."
"In silence. Behind the back if you can. Don't go running towards the enemy. Approach from the side or behind them. Stay hidden as long as possible."
She took all that in, and then said, "Show me how to conjure a Patronus."
"No."
"Why not?"
"I have my reasons."
Rolling her eyes, she asked, "What if I'm approached by a soul-sucking Dementor? Or would you enjoy seeing me kissed?" He didn't respond, and after a moment she said, incredulous, "You can't do it, can you?"
"No," he replied, turning away from her. "Happy?"
She gaped at him. "Seriously?" she asked. "You can't do it?"
He sighed, his eyes still averted from hers, as he said, "Dark wizards and witches generally can't. None of the Death Eaters I knew had that ability. I don't even think the Dark Lord was capable."
After a beat, Callie said in a quiet voice, "But you're not a dark wizard anymore."
It was only then that he finally met her eye. She stared right back as the thought that he'd just let a secret slip crossed her mind. Her heart seemed to beat harder in her chest, and her face took on a perturbed expression, but she never dropped his gaze.
"No," he said. "But I was. I suppose that's enough to get in the way of it."
He took the wine bottle from her and drank. Curious, Callie leaned over and took his left arm, surprised when he didn't protest. Not even when she rolled up his sleeve, revealing the skull with the snake coming out of its mouth. She looked from the Mark, to him, and whispered, "How did you get that, sir?"
Avoiding her eye once again, he removed her hand from his arm and pulled down his sleeve. "Don't make me think about that," he said quietly.
Despite the fact that he wouldn't - or couldn't - look at her, she couldn't stop staring at him. After a moment she said, "Sir?"
"What?"
A pause. "Cruciate me."
That certainly got his attention. "Are you out of your absolute mind, Warbeck?" he almost shouted.
"I wanna know what it feels like," she explained.
"No, you don't."
"I wanna try to fight it off."
"You can't."
"You can with the Imperius Curse," she argued.
"It's not the same," he said. "You've still got a bit of your mind left with the Imperius Curse. The Cruciatus leaves you with no room for anything other than pain."
"You've had it done to you, then?" she asked.
Again, they simply stared at each other. Maybe she could read his mind a bit. There was a lot she was learning without him having to actually open his mouth.
"You want to know what it feels like?" he asked after a moment.
Hesitantly, she said, "Yes."
He sighed to himself and looked around the room, before taking her hand and pulling her to stand with him. "Close your eyes," he said.
Again, she was hesitant, but did so.
After a moment, he asked, "What do you see?"
"Nothing, sir, my eyes are closed."
"What do you hear?"
She listened, but the room was silent. "Nothing."
"What do you feel?"
She thought about it. Aside from the beating of her own heart, she felt nothing. Not even his presence, and she wondered where he was in relation to her. "I don't feel anything, sir."
"You don't, at first," he said. "Mainly because the human mind isn't capable of processing that kind of pain so quickly. But it seeps in. Only a second or two, it takes, but you can feel the fire spreading through your veins, down to your fingertips."
She suddenly felt a bit of warmth in her chest, not painful, but just a few degrees higher than body temperature. Are you doing that? she wanted to ask, but she stayed quiet as the warmth did indeed spread out from her chest, down her arms and her torso and legs, and up her throat and face.
"Imagine," he went on, "stepping into a fireplace... having the flames engulf you... but you're not going anywhere. And you're not immune to them. You're on fire. You can't move. You can't think. All you can do is stand there and burn."
He was painting a hell of a picture, and Callie could feel the ghost of the pain he was describing - literally, it was as though she were standing near an open flame, not close enough to get burned but enough to feel the heat. It was uncomfortable, but not exactly painful.
Whatever he's doing, she thought, this isn't the Cruciatus. She was sure this was only a hint.
"It's been going on forever," Snape said. "That's what you think. But it's only been about ten seconds."
He got quiet then, and their prior conversation about the Patronus came to mind.
Dark wizards and witches generally can't do it.
But you're not a dark wizard anymore.
Trembling slightly, she called out, "Professor?" And then she felt his hand on her shoulder, and her eyes shot open. He was behind her, but he had his wand aimed in front of her neck.
"Still want to try it out?" he whispered in her ear.
Her heart was pounding, her knees felt like they were about to buckle, but she said, "Yes," and braced herself. Neither of them moved for a moment, and she kept her eyes on the wand in his hand.
"Hmph," he breathed. "You seem to have forgotten it's illegal. I'm not doing time in Azkaban on account of your morbid curiosity, Warbeck." With that, he removed the wand from her neck and returned to his seat.
She gaped at him, suddenly light-headed, whether it was from the wine or what he'd just done. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she noted that the warm feeling was gone. However, she was still shaking and her heartbeat was faster and stronger than normal.
Smirking at her, Snape said, "Not so fearless, are you, love?"
"What did you do to me?" she asked.
"I was projecting."
"Projecting?"
"Yes. Placing my own thoughts in your mind," he explained. "I didn't want to give you the full force of it, but you felt the burn?"
He waited for her to respond, but she felt a bit dazed. "I-" she stammered. "I did, sir."
Picking up the wine and bringing it to his lips, he said, "Now you have some small semblance of an idea what it's like to be in my head."